Arauca: A Novel of Colombia

by D. Alan Johnson

  Max looked over his situation map glued up on the north wall of his command post. On it he could see the position of each unit of fighters represented by pins with small paper tags. The main force gathered in an area of thick jungle just southwest of Cano Limon. He had other groups stationed within striking distance from police outposts, Army bases, Air Force bases, and major bridges and intersections.

  The Chinese provided superb intelligence. He now had schedules of Army troop deployment and resupply, aircraft numbers and types at each air force base, satellite photos of every key bridge and intersection that he had requested, and updates from Chinese intelligence should any Colombian or US agency start to notice his operation.

  His own agent, his niece, had sent him an email confirming she was at Cano Limon and that she met Mad Madison. Soon he would have the key needed to destroy the camp’s surveillance plane, both gunships, and most importantly their secret assault unit. Such a small part of the plan, but so important to quickly capturing the state of Arauca with the minimum of damage or casualties.

  His propaganda machine was humming. The people of Colombia loved the notion of the New FARC. Editorials in the papers declared this a new age for the nation, and were already calling for cuts in defense and police spending. The press is so easy to manipulate. They live in a fantasy world. Well, they would have plenty to report in a few days.

  Shipments of arms were prepositioned just outside of Cano Limon on the Venezuelan side of the river. The Chinese had fronted the rifles, ammunition, explosives, trucks, food, and medicine in return for Max’s promise to make China the exclusive arms and aircraft supplier to the new country. Therefore, when the FARC attacked, they would have everything except aircraft, heavy artillery and armored fighting vehicles.

  Max had told his commanders that the operation would start 22 days after the coup, but all along he planned for 14 days. This way, should any news of the attack to leak to the Colombian forces, they would still be preparing for the attack and be taken by surprise.

  1012, Thursday, July 25

  Cano Limon

  Arauca, Colombia

  Yolima anchored her boat to a tree on the island in the middle of the Arauca River and paid out the rope far enough to get her out into the deep channel. Here she met six dolphins. Delighted, she named each one, petted them, talked with them, and fed them raw fish. As soon as Yolima pulled out her camera, it almost seemed the creatures started posing for photographs. They were smaller than their saltwater cousins, and lighter gray. When they rolled over in the water, she could see that their bellies were pink as baby’s skin with large gray freckles.

  This was just incredible. Even after reading all about these dolphins, she was amazed at how friendly and intelligent they seemed. And then, a dark thought fought its way into her mind, and she remembered that she was here not to study wildlife in peace, but to spy for a war.

  Her meetings with Mad troubled her. She was expecting a capitalist cad, but instead she had talked and flirted with a gentle, knowledgeable man. He spoke excellent Spanish, had a great sense of humor, and even though she was deliberately pointing her sexual assets at him, he treated her as a lady. This would be a lot easier if he were all of the horrible things that Americans were supposed to be: rude, arrogant, ill informed, fat and smelly. But he was none of those things.

  After dinner last night, she had invited him to her room to listen to some new music that she had brought, but he declined, making a joke that he couldn’t resist her if he were alone with her. So they played table tennis and billiards in the recreation center instead. He lost at both. Then they both went to their own rooms.

  Ever since her husband was killed in a government ambush nearly three years ago, her interest in men hovered between zero and minus one. Uncle Max tried to comfort her by arranging and paying for a master’s degree in marine biology in Spain. Upon her return to Colombia, Max spoke to one of his friends in Cartagena to fix her up with a job at Greenpeace International studying the pollution levels of the Atlantic Ocean and its effects upon aquatic life.

  Mad is the first man that I’ve been interested in since Johnnie’s death, she thought. In those briefings, no one told me that he would be so handsome. He makes me feel like I’m in high school again. I was afraid I’d never feel the flutters, the excitement, and the desire for a man again. But this crazy, sweet, honest American has brought my heart back from the dead.

  Laying in bed her earlier this morning, she had heard the roar of his engines taking off just before dawn. Later, at breakfast a Tyson Oil accountant sat down beside her and told her Mad was escorting a truck loaded with new pumps out to one of the wells. He complained about the cost of the escort, and how, with the new FARC, the cost just wasn’t justified. She just smiled at him and nodded. These stupid capitalists are so easily taken in by our propaganda.

  The sun warmed her skin, and she leaned back so that the rays hit her full in the front. Her tiny yellow bikini barely covered her breasts, and the thong bottom was positively lewd. She hoped to meet Mad later while she was still wet and her nipples would be showing. Emotions roiled through her: shame for being dressed like a prostitute, excitement of being almost nude in public, and pride that her flawless body continually drew stares from the workers on shore.

  As she leaned back in the boat, she forgot about the dolphins for a moment and conflicting thoughts flooded her consciousness so fast that she felt nauseous. On one hand she was proud of her uncle and his plan to take control of Cano Limon. She was still a believer in the benefits of socialism, and she knew it almost always took a large dose of violence to push out a corrupt government. But was the cost of losing her new love worth the benefit to the state? Could I really betray him? Can I disappoint my uncle and put his whole operation in jeopardy? No, I must be loyal to my beliefs and to my family. Do I have any other choice? No, I have no other choice….

  Over the roar of the river, she heard the beat of approaching aircraft engines and looked up to see the gray Cessna swooping overhead. Darkness blinked over her for half a second as the plane blocked out the sun. The aircraft passed so low she could see the dark streaks of old oil along the belly, Mad’s head wearing his lucky dark blue baseball cap framed in the window, and even the turret mounted camera under the left wing swiveling to keep her in view. She waved with so much energy it rocked her little boat.

  She looked down at the dolphin lounging in the water next to the boat. She had named him Gonzo. Reaching over the side, she took his snout in both hands, and asked him, “What am I going to do with that man?”

  *******

  “Great shot! We got a great shot of her and the dolphins,” Steve said.

  “Excellent.”

  Everything was excellent to Mad. It was his favorite word. He looked down to get his bearings for the approach and landing back at the airstrip. The dark green jungle contrasted sharply with the muddy cleared areas around the camp and gave him a great visual pointer toward the strip. These cleared areas pushed back the jungle and gave the Army troops a clear field of fire against any ground attack.

  “What a beauty,” Steve continued. “Now, Mad, tell me the truth. You’re in love with that woman, aren’t you?”

  “Madly,” he said and then laughed at his own pun. Pulling up from the river and turning hard right put them on a perfect left downwind to the runway.

  “Before landing checklist.” Challenge and response, they marched through the procedure. Gear down, flaps full, boost pumps on, mixtures rich, and prop levers forward.

  Mad turned a tight left base to stay inside the high voltage wires just a half mile off the end of the piece of road that they used for a runway. With minute movements of the yoke and throttles, he kept rate of sink constant, and the airspeed at seventy knots. He completed the 180 degree turn fifty feet above and a hundred yards before the threshold of the runway. Level the wings, he told himself, raise the nose and close the throttles. The main wheels kissed the tarmac and then Mad eased the nose wheel ont
o the centerline. Landings were his favorite part of flying, and he never tired of them.

  As Mad taxied off of the road, he noticed the security man from Monroe was standing beside the hangar. George dressed in a sleeveless tee shirt and jogging shorts. He had obviously been running, sweat still poured off of him. Mad squeezed into his narrow parking spot and went through the shut down checklist. When the props stopped rotating, George ambled over to the aircraft.

  “Hey, George. What brings you out to here?”

  “I need to talk with you both about Yoli. I’ve noticed that the dolphin lady has taken a real shine to you, Mr. Madison.” Mad couldn’t keep the big smile off of his face. “And I think that you like her too.” Pause. “But, look…” George seemed to be having a hard time finding the right words. He stared at the ground, then right into Mad’s eyes.

  “I’ve got to tell you that Yolima Cifuentes is not her real name. She’s a suspected FARC operative from Pasto. Her family is connected with a murder of one of our employees a few weeks ago. As you’ve probably noticed, she’s awfully pretty. We think that she may be a sexual lure aimed at you, Mr. Madison.”

  This sounded too much like some sort of game, a joke. Mad figured that he might as well play along. He looked sidelong at Steve with a silly grin.

  “So, what do you want me to do?”

  “Don’t let yourself be taken in.” George was on a roll now, and the words spilled out in a rush. “She isn’t really interested in you, she’s interested in knowing everything about your operation, and any other info she can get either on you or on your partner here, or even your company. Don’t go to bed with her, and for gosh sakes, don’t fall in love with her.”

  “You sure are hard on a guy’s ego. I thought that she really liked me for my body, or at least for my jokes,” Mad said. But George wasn’t smiling. Mad looked hard at George’s eyes. His grin faded.

  “You aren’t kidding are you?”

  “No sir, I am telling you that there is a lot more going on here than you think. And I’m warning you. There is a FARC dolly after you.” He went on to explain how an intelligence service uses sexual lures to ensnare agents.

  “Are you telling me you want me to stay away from her, then?” Mad asked.

  “No, no, no.” George took a deep breath. “You need to stay in close contact. She can’t know we suspect her. Watch what you say to her. You never should tell her about times of flight, routes, weaknesses in your system….”

  George looked around to make sure that the Colombian mechanics were not easing closer to the conversation. They were still across the ramp refueling a helicopter and laughing at a shared joke.

  “And never mention Paper Blue.” Mad nodded, stunned that George knew about the secret CIA combat team based in Arauca to guard the pipeline. “Also, we may ask you to tell her certain things that aren’t quite so. Disinformation, you know. I’ll be in constant contact with you. The story is that we’ve hit it off as friends. Both of us ex-Army, and all.”

  “Look, I appreciate all this advice, Mister, but who are you, anyway?” Max asked. “And why should I do what you say? Nobody briefed me about you.”

  George looked like he had been slapped.

  “Yeah, well, I guess we should have let you know something about all of this.” George cleared his throat and looked up at the sky, buying time while he struggled with how much he should tell this pilot. I guess I tell him everything. His life is the one that’s on the line.

  “I am the security chief for Monroe Corporation here in Colombia, just like I told you. But I used to work for the Agency some when I was back in Seventh Group.[1] One of my old bosses is now the Chief of Station in Bogota. He asked me to come down here and monitor this agent. I’m telling you about her because she’s after you.”

  Mad nodded slowly. George looked over at Steve who seemed overwhelmed by all this.

  “You alright with all this?” George would have preferred telling only Mad, but he realized early on that Steve was like Mad’s brother, always around. He would have to know sooner rather than later.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m in,” Steve said with a shrug of resignation.

  “Steve, you’ll need to watch over Mad, here. I want you to remind him who she is. It’ll be tough for Mad when that woman comes over with one too many buttons undone on her blouse.” Steve playfully elbowed Mad.

  “You keep close by, especially at night. Don’t let him get hooked into going to her room alone.” George turned to leave, and then turned back.

  “Oh, and don’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about this. Don’t email your boss. Don’t talk on the phone about it. Don’t discuss it between yourselves. You never know who’s listening or who’s a FARC agent. If she finds out that you know, she or her friend just might have to kill you.”

  Mad’s mouth was open, and his hands were hanging at his side. This wasn’t funny anymore. A shaft of ice rested in his gut, real fear.

  By the time they finished the post flight, refueled for tomorrow’s mission and filled out the paperwork it was time for lunch. The dining hall was packed with oil workers when they walked in, and several of the men greeted them as they went through the line. The food was served buffet style.

  Mad got pan fried fish, rice, broccoli, a piece of cake, and mora juice to drink. Steve just had a large salad and a bottle of water. They walked over to a table close to the window, listening to a salsa number playing over the stereo.

  As soon as they sat down, the assistant operations boss, Alex Vanegas, came over and sat down. He spoke perfect English.

  “Mad, I saw you with Yoli last night.” Alex was excited. “I really think she likes you, man.”

  “We were just playing ping pong and pool. She whipped me at both.” Mad laughed as he remembered how surprised he was when she trounced him.

  “Yeah, but did you see the way she was looking you?”

  As Alex kept talking, Mad realized the disappointment he felt that Yolima only pretended to be interested in him. His bile started to rise, and he fleetingly thought of telling her to shove off the next time that he saw her. Then he remembered the threat. If she really was FARC and he blew her cover, would they try to kill him? Was he that effective against them that they were willing to assassinate him?

  He came to realize the real risks here for him, and suddenly he couldn’t eat anymore. Nausea kicked him in his gut. He needed to get away and think. Mad looked up at Steve and saw that he was only picking at his salad.

  “Sorry Alex, we gotta go,” Mad said as they both stood up.

  The afternoon passed slowly for Mad. He wrote reports to be emailed back to the home office, omitting the most important news of the day. He tried to nap, but sleep eluded him. Over and over the smile on Yoli’s face, her eyes when she looked sidelong at him, and the graceful movements of her body played like a movie against the backs of his eyelids. After an hour in the sack, he got up, called Steve, and they headed off to the gym, but instead of going inside, they kept on going for a long walk around the production facility.

  “Steve, give me some good advice, buddy,” Mad said as they slowly walked down the street. The sun beat down on them, and they stopped in the shade of a large banyan tree. After a long time, Steve looked over at Mad.

  “We’re in deep. A lot deeper than I ever thought we’d be.”

  “Yeah. I figured our problem would be an off airport landing after getting an engine shot up. I never thought we’d be involved in any spy stuff,” Mad said.

  “And this sounds like it could be just as dangerous as a crash. But you sure can’t run away.” Steve laughed a little. “So Mad. You still really like this girl, don’t you?”

  “I think I’m in love, buddy. I have fallen for this girl like I have never fallen before.”

  “And what if she is FARC?”

  “I’m sure she is,” Mad said immediately. “That doesn’t change that fact that I think that she is the most enchanting creature I’ve ever seen.” Mad’s cell phone wen
t off, and he answered. George of the Jungle was just checking on him.

  Steve grabbed the phone.

  “We need to talk. We’re on the west side of the main gate, on the perimeter road.” Within two minutes George pulled up in a golf cart and parked in the shade next to them.

  “We got a problem,” Steve drawled to George. “My buddy here is desperately in love with this Yolima.”

  George had taken classes on how to run agents, but 15 years had passed. In theory, everything was so clear cut, so easy. Now, faced with an obviously lovesick fifty year old being chased by a gorgeous thirty year old, it didn’t seem so easy. It seemed hopeless.

  “Have you seen her since we talked? No? Good. Well, from looking at you, it won’t be hard for you to convince her that you’re in her grasp.” George sighed.

  “Steve. You and I will have to be near Mad all the time.” Turning to Mad, “There will come times when it’s just too obvious or uncomfortable for one of us to be with you. You’ll just have to do your best. Don’t tell her anything operational. And after you get back, I’ll debrief you so that we know what you told her.”

  As they walked back toward the camp they saw Yolima walking up from the river.

  “OK, Mad. Showtime.” George’s eyes got wide and he grinned, turning and walking back toward the golf cart.

  Yolima strode past George and up to Steve and Mad, her perfect body accentuated by the tiny yellow bikini, her long brown hair tangled and partially dried.

  Mad thought that this must be the most beautiful woman in the world. He looked over her shoulder and saw George’s eyes go wide and he whistled silently in admiration as she passed. She didn’t even acknowledge the other’s presence, but only had eyes for Mad.

  “You nearly scared me out of the boat,” she scolded in Spanish.